thinking this some poison, or some potion that would steal his free will, Drizzt resisted. He spat out some of the liquid, but got his head slammed hard against the wall for the effort, and more of the sour tasting stuff rolled down his throat.
Drizzt felt burning throughout his body, as though his insides were on fire. In what he believed were his last gasps of life, he strug gled fiercely against the unyielding chains, then fell limp, exhausted, expecting to die.
The burn became a tingling, sweet sensation; Drizzt felt stronger suddenly, and his vision returned as the swelling began to subside from his eyes.
The Baenre brothers stood before him.
"Drizzt Do'Urden, " Dantrag said evenly. "I have waited many years to meet you."
Drizzt had no reply.
"Do you know me? Of me?" Dantrag asked.
Again Drizzt did not speak, and this time his silence cost him a slap across the face.
"Do you know of me?" Dantrag asked more forcefully.
Drizzt tried hard to remember the name Matron Baenre had tagged on this one. He knew Berg'inyon from their years together at the Academy and on patrol, but not this one; he couldn't remember the name. He did understand that this one's ego was involved, and that it would be wise to appease that false pride. He studied the male's outfit for just a moment, drawing what he hoped to be the correct conclusion.
"Weapon master of House Baenre, " he slurred, blood following every word from his battered mouth. He found that the sting of those wounds was not so great now, as though they were quickly healing, and he began to understand the nature of that potion that had been forced down his throat.
"Zak'nafein told you, then, of Dantrag, " the male reasoned, puffing out his chest like a barnyard rooster.
"Of course, " Drizzt lied.
"Then you know why I am here."
"No, " Drizzt answered honestly, more than a little confused.
Dantrag looked over his own shoulder, drawing Drizzt's gaze across the room to a pile of equipment, Drizzt's equipment!, stacked neatly in a far corner.
"For many years I desired a fight with Zak'nafein, " Dantrag explained, "to prove that I was the better. He was afraid of me and would not come out of his hiding hole."
Drizzt resisted the urge to scoff openly; Zak'nafein had been afraid of no one.
"Now I have you, " Dantrag went on.
"To prove yourself?" Drizzt asked.
Dantrag lifted a hand, as if to strike, but held his temper in check.
"We fight, and you kill me, and what does Matron Baenre say?" Drizzt asked, understanding Dantrag's dilemma. He had been cap tured for greater reasons than to appease the pride of an upstart Baenre child. It all seemed like such a game suddenly, a game that Drizzt had played before. When his sister had come to Mithril Hall and captured him, part of her deal with her associate was to let the man, Artemis Entreri, have his personal fight with Drizzt, for no better reason than to prove himself.
"The glory of my victory will forestall any punishments, " Dantrag replied casually, as though he honestly believed the claim. "And perhaps I will not kill you. Perhaps I will maim you and drag you back to your chains so that Vendes can continue her play. That is why we gave you the potion. You will be healed, brought to the brink of death, and healed again. It will go on for a hundred years, if that is Matron Baenre's will."
Drizzt remembered the ways of his dark people and did not doubt the claim for a minute. He had heard whispers of captured nobles, taken in some of the many interhouse wars, who were kept for centuries as tortured slaves of the victorious houses.
"Do not doubt that our fight will come, Drizzt Do'Urden, " Dantrag said. He put his face right up to Drizzt's. "When you are healed and able to defend yourself." Faster than Drizzt's eyes could follow, Dantrag's hands came up and slapped him alternately on both cheeks. Drizzt had never seen such speed before and he marked it well, suspecting that he would one day witness it again under more dangerous circumstances.
Dantrag spun on his heels and walked past Berg'inyon, toward the door. The younger Baenre merely laughed at the hanging pris oner and spat in Drizzt's face before following his brother.
"So beautiful, " the bald mercenary remarked, running his slen der fingers through Catti-brie's thick tangle of auburn hair.
Catti-brie did not blink; she just stared hard at the dimly